


Scars That Don't Heal

by mnemosyne23



Series: Dombilie - Secrets and Spies 'Verse [4]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, Lost RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Mild NC-17, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne23/pseuds/mnemosyne23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene fromTeffy's  <a href="http://teffy.livejournal.com/253988.html">"Secrets and Spies."</a>   Billy is watching Dom and Emilie sleep.  Then Emilie wakes up, and they watch each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars That Don't Heal

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the night of [Chapter 13](http://www.livejournal.com/users/teffy/217478.html), after the events of that chapter.

_I wish I had a reason_  
My flaws are open season  
For this I gave up trying  
One good time deserves my dying

~Stone Sour, "Bother"~

 

 

The moonlight is blue and clear, except above Billy's chair where it's interrupted by curling tendrils of cigarette smoke. He takes a deep drag, the burning end of the cancer stick glowing devil red in the darkness. The smoke fills his lungs, and he imagines he can feel the tar coating him from the inside out, holding him together. Sometimes he thinks it's all that holds him together. The next time they open his shoulder to mend his bones he's going to bleed nicotine.

His Dommie and Emilie are asleep in bed not five feet away. The angel is curled around Dom's body like a mink wrap, warm and soft and deliciously expensive. The sheets have pulled down her body -- Dommie always was a cover hog -- and Billy can see her bare back; mentally imagines how her breasts must feel against Dom's chest. He watches vacantly as Dom's fingers stroke idly back and forth across her tailbone, playing her like a lute in a dream. Tanned copper fingers against alabaster white skin.

Shit.

He takes another drag.

Emilie shifts in her sleep, curling a little tighter and tucking her hands up under her chin, and suddenly she's awake. The change is instantaneous -- one moment her eyes are closed in sleep, the next they're open and alert and watching him over the curve of her hip. Billy doesn't register his surprise, but he holds her gaze, idly tapping his cigarette into an ashtray on the table at his elbow.

Emilie doesn't do anything for a minute; just watches him. Billy lets her stare, feeling the cigarette in his fingers burning lower. Her eyes look black in the night, lit by two shards of moonlight that glitter like diamonds. Her sun gold hair looks silver set against the soft focus white of her skin.

He holds a fresh lungful of smoke for a second before blowing it through his nose like a dragon.

Wordlessly she moves, uncurling and slithering across Dom's torso to rummage over the side of the bed, out of Billy's sight. Dom mutters and shifts in his sleep but doesn't wake up. Billy smiles at that. Dommie could sleep through a hurricane. Yet somehow he always knows when to wake up for danger. Billy used to tease him about having such a finely honed sixth sense. _It'll backfire someday, Dommeh, just ye wait and see. Ye'll wake up in the middle of the night and shoot the pizza boy._

That had been in the _Before_ time. Before the bullets and blood on the streets of London.

God, he hates this city.

The angel sits up in a fluid motion, and he catches a glimpse of the swell of her breast before she pulls Dom's t-shirt down over her head. It hangs loose on her slender frame, pooling around her hips. Rolling gracefully onto her side so she's facing him, Emilie props her head on her hand and says, "You should sleep."

Billy arches his eyebrow, chuckling. "I'll take it under advisement." He taps the cigarette against the ashtray again before taking another drag.

"Those things'll kill you."

He chuckles again, and there's no humor in it. "They'd be a few years late, angel," he says, staring at the glowing red end of the cigarette. He lets his eyes go distant again, the red glow blurring until it seems he holds a ball of fire in his hand.

"Just a few…" he murmurs

She doesn't say anything to that, and quiet reigns between them for a few minutes, broken only by Dom's deep breathing and the sound of cars on the street outside. Billy looks up from his cigarette to find Emilie staring at him again, though with less intensity and more concentration. She seems to be memorizing him, silently stockpiling his features and cataloging his posture. He wonders if she does this with everyone she meets, or if he's a special case. He wonders if she did this with Dom.

If this is going to be study time, he has plenty to set to memory where she's concerned. Relaxing deeper into the cheap upholstery of the hotel armchair, he asks, "How old are ye?"

She doesn't blink. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity."

"Twenty-three."

He nods, suspicions confirmed. "You're young," he muses.

For a second her eyes go ice cold and steel blue. Then they clear and she's placid again. Pushing into a sitting position, she plants a hand on the bed and watches him.

"Only in body," she says after a minute.

Billy tilts his head against the back of the chair. "I believe ye," he murmurs.

She runs a hand through her hair. "And you?" she asks.

"What about me, angel?"

"How old are you?"

"Are we playing _I'll show ye mine if ye show me yours_ then?"

"I could just call you _Old Man_."

He laughs quietly, surprised that it's real. "Thirty-seven," he tells her, crushing his cigarette out in the ashtray.

"You look younger," Emilie remarks, and there's a touch of amusement in her voice.

"Aye, I do at that," he agrees, feeling his smile fade as he sits back again and watches her. "But only in body."

He watches as she swings her legs over the side of the bed to stand up. Toned legs; dancer's legs. He thinks she must have been a ballerina when she was younger. _Not long ago then_ , he thinks as she walks toward him. _Not long ago at all_. What happened to this girl that put her in this hotel room on this night with a damned man and their mutual lover? When did she lose the ribbons and pigtails and pink satin slippers and turn them in for cold steel and fishnets? And why?

His eyes follow her progress until she comes to a stop in front of him. After a second she moves forward, legs parting to straddle his knees, and he's ready for her as she sinks down onto his lap. He rests his hands on her hips, guiding her down until she's sitting on his thighs. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders and he wishes for a mirror, because what a beautiful picture she must make in profile, spine arched ever so slightly, silk-soft hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders in loose ringlets.

"Dom's between us," she murmurs, thumbs rubbing the side of his neck.

"Hmmm…?" It's dangerous, how comfortable she makes him. Every muscle in his body is loosening as her fingers stroke his skin. Emilie could snap his neck in a heartbeat, but right now, Billy doesn't care. It's been so long since anyone's touched him so gently. Tonight he feels greedy. He wants them both. His Dommie is tight, muscles and sinew, and Bill could live in him. But Emilie is soft, giving in oh so many places, and he can smell her arousal from here.

"He's twenty-nine," she continues, fingers trailing forward down the V of his open collar. "Between us."

"So he is. Fancy that." Billy lets his eyes drift shut, relaxing further as her fingers begin to gently unbutton his shirt. He sighs, raising a hand to hold her wrist. "Stop."

Opening his eyes again, he gazes into her face. "Why?" she asks, fingers still toying with his buttons.

"Angel-"

"Shhhh…" With a deft motion she slips her hand from his grasp, and he realizes with only passing regard that he doesn't even try to stop her.

Billy stares at the ceiling as she parts the fabric of his shirt, steeling himself for the gasp that always comes when someone is confronted with his scars. The cotton opens, and the cool air of the room breathes on his skin.

And she doesn't gasp.

He glances down just in time to see the crown of her golden head bending forward, an instant before her lips make contact with the sensitive scar tissue above his left nipple. This time, he's the one who gasps. "Shite," he breathes, feeling her mouth open against his puckered skin.

"This one killed you," Emilie whispers, her lips grazing his scar and sending tingles of pleasurable pain to the nerve centers of his brain. "The others hurt, but this one killed you…"

Her tongue traces the outline of the scar, and Billy hears himself whimper. It feels detached, as if he's not the one making the sound.

It comes as a bit of a shock when he realizes he's not.

"Angel…?" he murmurs, furrowing his brow

Emilie moans again, a hollow, broken sound, and her mouth moves up from the scar above his heart to the one that marks his shoulder. Her hands slide down his chest and under his arms, hooking over his shoulders from behind as her mouth greedily attacks the pink scar tissue. Billy arches beneath her, sucking in a breath as her tongue runs over the tender spot.

"Angel…!" he gasps again, his arms twining around her waist and holding her, surprised to feel her shaking. "Emilie, luv, what is it? Shhh…"

She raises her face, pressing it into his throat, and he feels tears on her cheeks. "Don't tell Dom….!" she gasps, and the urgency in her voice is almost enough to overshadow the tears. "Don't tell him… he worries…"

Billy smiles, pressing his face into her hair. "I know he does," he murmurs near her ear, inhaling the soft scent of her shampoo. "I remember."

"If he knew…"

"That you're crying?"

"How much I love him…"

Billy sighs, nuzzling her ear. "He knows, angel," he murmurs. "He knows."

"No." She's firm in that as she pushes up, moving just enough to press her forehead against his. The tears on her cheeks make tracks with the minimal remnants of the day's mascara, and she looks wild and beautiful, like an angel fallen in a demon's alley. "No, he doesn't. I can't let him feel that attached to me, like he was with you. What if something… Billy, you didn't see him when I found him. You weren't there. He was broken in half. His eyes were empty, and all I saw was this hollow shell." She shudders and Billy holds her tighter.

"I wanted to fill him up, Bill," she whispers, closing her eyes, lashes a dark fringe against her white cheek. "I wanted to somehow slide into that hole you left behind and make it all better. I wanted to be his cure. But… But I couldn't be. You were too much of his life. All I could do was match up the broken pieces and try to put them together again."

She sounds so lost, and it scares him. Does he ever do anything but cause pain?

"Then you came back," she continues softly, and her tears have ebbed to such a degree that her voice no longer shakes, but he can hear the tightness in her chest. "And now there's this light in his eyes, Bill, that I've never seen before. It's like he's really alive for the first time. Like you both came back from the dead."

"Angel-"

"Shut up." It's not said harshly, but with determination. She means for him to listen, and listen he does.

"I love him," she says, looking him in the eye. "I might not complete him, but he completes _me_. Know that and understand it, because it means I am going to watch you like a hawk. Anything you do, I'm going to be there. Anywhere you go, I'm going too. Because I am not going to let you die again, Billy Boyd. I'm not going to let you leave. If you do, Dom'll shatter like glass, and I'll never put him together again. I won't let you do that to him, do you understand? I won't FUCKING let you hurt him like that again!"

And now her fingers are clawing into his shoulders as her hands ball into fists, and yes, this is what he wants. She's hitting him, sharp, glancing blows that don't do any damage but they send a stinging message. He closes his eyes, secretly wanting her to rain all her anger down on his chest, his throat, the shiny pink skin of his scars. He wants this pain -- NEEDS this pain. Needs someone to finally tell him what a son of a bitch he's been for seven years. Wants someone to tear through all the lies and finally see him for what he is: a hollow shell of who he was.

_Harder, Angel_ , he urges in his head. _Don't you dare let up._

Then all of a sudden, the fists aren't fists, and she's crying against his neck again.

"I wanted to hate you," she whispers hoarsely, as her hands snake behind his neck and hold him immobile. "Christ, I wanted to hate you. What right do you have to come back? After I've done all this work and fought so hard to fix him, what right do _you_ have to come back like it's all yesterday's news and suddenly it's all okay again? Fuck, I wanted to feel vindictive."

"Why don't you?" His voice is ragged, and he wonders if maybe she's not the only one who's crying.

Emilie pulls back a little and she stares into his eyes. "I don't know," she murmurs, her fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I don't know…"

And now her hand is coming down from his neck, gliding over his shoulder and ghosting down his torso, fingers trailing over the scar on his side, making him shiver.

"There's only one person in this room I trust," she murmurs.

"Yourself."

"No." Emilie shakes her head. "Him." She jerks her head back slightly to indicate Dom's recumbent figure on the bed. "Only idiots trust themselves. People need other people to look out for them and keep them from doing the damn stupid things everyone does. Damn stupid things like getting themselves killed. You need a check and balance system to keep you safe, to stop you cutting corners and taking the easy way out of things. Dom does that for me. He cares if I live or die, so he makes sure I live." Her fingers tease the scar on his belly, and he feels his cock stir in response. She must feel it, too, though she makes no mention of it.

"You're luckier than me, Billy Boyd," she whispers.

He laughs, a little breathlessly, though there's no amusement in the sound. "How's that, Angel? Because I've come back from the dead? Es not all it's cracked up to be, I assure ye."

"No, nothing like that." She leans in, and now her lips are barely brushing his while her hand continues to stroke his scar. His cock is hardening, and the sweet taste of her breath -- still minty from her toothpaste -- is like a drug.

"How so then?" he murmurs, watching her pupils dilate as his lips graze hers.

Emilie brings both hands up to cup his face, and he can't fight a moan from the loss of sensation.

"Because I only have one person I can trust to watch my back," she whispers. "You have two."

She rocks her hips once, and he can feel the hot cleft of her legs brush over the bulge in his pants. "Oh God…" he breathes, his hands massaging her hips. "So do you, angel… You do, too…"

A slow smile spreads across her face, but he can't tell if it's sad or ironic. "Not yet," she murmurs. "Not yet."

Very, very slowly, she stands. Billy wants to grab her, to pull her down and ram his cock deep into her warm, willing body. But he lets her go, watching her eyes until she's standing before him.

"I still may call you Old Man," she says quietly, with the hint of a teasing smile.

He can't help but huff out a laugh. "You do what you want, Angel," he grants her.

Emilie tilts her head, and now the hint has grown into a full-fledged wicked grin. "Always," she murmurs.

Billy watches her turn, follows the liquid roll of her hips as she walks back to the bed and climbs onto the mattress. He sees her pull off Dom's shirt and throw it to the side; watches her slide onto Dommie's torso and press her lips against his throat.

"Hmmm… Wha' Em…?" Dom mutters, coming slowly awake.

"Shut up," she says, and this time it sounds like an endearment. Dommie seems to think so, because he smiles like a sleepy fool and captures her lips with his own, rolling them to the side so that she's half-pinned beneath his body, his knee between her thighs.

 

Bill's cock is hard and aching in his pants as he watches Emilie hook her leg around Dom's waist. He shakes a cigarette from his pack as he watches Dom push into her; lights it as she moans Dommie's name. Sliding a hand into his trousers, he takes a drag from the nicotine stick as he wraps his fingers around his cock and starts to pump in time with Dom's thrusts.

Bill watches the younger man's hand smooth down her side like he's stroking fine china, and thinks, _He knows, Angel. Hard as you try to hide it, he knows…_

He comes with her, choking on smoke and moaning Dom's name, and thinks if it wasn't for the tar in his lungs, he'd fall apart completely.

 

 

**THE END ******


End file.
